


The Source of Blame

by aldonza



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nothing graphic happens but heavy content is mentioned and warning just in case, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, this is also a slight Kay AU so ellipses ahoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21769345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldonza/pseuds/aldonza
Summary: When Erik publicly insults a superior, Giovanni decides to discipline his young apprentice. But the boy’s reaction sheds some light upon his dark past, and the master mason is horrified by what he learns.Or, in which Giovanni is rightfully horrified by Erik's past abuse.
Relationships: Giovanni & Erik
Comments: 15
Kudos: 54
Collections: Genuary 2021





	The Source of Blame

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve actually been working on this for a while. It’s not exactly a dark fic, but it does touch on some dark and heavy content. It’s a sensitive issue that I’ve always wanted to see resolved with kerik, and hopefully, my writing’s finally matured enough to do it justice. I’m not sure if this needs a rape/non-con archive warning though, so if you think so, please let me know!
> 
> Warnings: mentions of non-con, child sexual abuse, self-harm
> 
> For context, this is a Kay AU, so for those of you that have read the book, I consider Madeleine and the beginning of Giovanni’s sections playing out the same way. However, in this story, Erik’s section happened differently.
> 
> Differences: He was traveling with a lone western European showman as the “living corpse.” The Romani people are uninvolved at that stage of his life (mostly because I’m no longer comfortable with the depiction of them in Kay’s book, and this is fanfiction so what I say goes). Next, the “Javert” character succeeded at abusing Erik in ways his Kay!counterpart failed. So please mind the warnings!
> 
> Knowledge of the book isn’t necessary to read this though. All you need to know is that this takes place after Erik left the traveling fair. Giovanni is a master mason who took young!Erik on as an apprentice in Italy after being impressed by his architectural talent. 
> 
> All that said, I hope you find this story worth reading, and thank you for giving it a chance!

> _"Why have you brought me here?" he whispered._
> 
> _The horror in his voice, the sudden fear flickering into his eyes, told me everything. This boy had suffered abuse from a man in its worst form, and I felt a great anger welling up in me against that unknown tormentor. - Giovanni, Susan Kay_

~o0o~

I had received several complaints about my newest apprentice within the past month, none of which I considered related to his work ethic. My new boy was odd, to say the least, and I was acutely aware of this fact. Erik had estimated himself to be between twelve and thirteen summers, but he possessed none of the carefree spirit so often found in his peers. He never spoke unless spoken to, and he had a habit of fixating on assignments at the expense of ignoring the rest of the world. He had his occasional outbursts, but they were of the blunt sort regarding masonry, directed at other workers and youths. Otherwise, Erik was a silent worker, more ghost than boy at times.

He was much thinner than even the wispiest of Roman boys, and despite his noble gait, had no established teacher or family member to fall back upon. My contemporaries and their students knew little about him (as little as I, really), but they saw him as an orphan plucked from the streets with no qualifications to speak of, though I suspected they begrudgingly acknowledged his natural talent. This of course, discounts the rumour that he is somehow my illegitimate son. These ticks would not have made him popular, I knew, but I suspected the real source of disdain he inspired came from the mask he insisted on wearing.

I never pressured him to remove it, however, nor did I approve of others making such a request. I suspected he needed it for a much greater reason than making an eccentric fashion statement...

As such, I ignored any complaints Erik’s peers made about him, barring the instance he near broke another boy’s arm for touching his mask. But a complaint from my own collaborators was another matter. One in particular had come from Martino Sagese, a long-time acquaintance and our current contractor’s preferred partner. Sagese was as skilled an architect as they came, and this was only one of many times that I had partnered with him on a project. I had introduced Erik to him some days ago, and Sagese had taken to him rather amiably. In fact, they had gotten along so splendidly that I permitted Erik to go to the construction site before me for three days straight. I trusted Sagese to keep an eye on him, and it seemed the arrangement worked well enough.

Until I arrived on the third day, on a morning like any other, filled with light clouds and soft sun. But I was met with Sagese storming towards me, his stocky body sweltering with anger and his face pinched red. Erik was at his heels, no less incensed.

“You miserable boy!” Sagese spat, “what gives you the right to speak to me this way!?”

“Shut up!” Erik said, so coarse and loud that it left me as astonished as the rest of our team. That should have been my first sign that something was deadly wrong. “Shut up and leave!”

“Do you hear his wicked words, Giovanni?” Sagese said to me, pulling my elbow as Erik glared at his backside.

“Erik!” I hissed at last, “what’s gotten into you?”

But he stayed put, as unflinching as the demonic glower behind his mask. Deciding to mind the boy later, I guided Sagese into the shade and asked him what had caused this argument.

“Your apprentice has no manners,” he told me, still shaking from rage, “Giovanni, the things he said! He threatened violence! All for what- a disagreement over stones?”

Mortified, I touched my temples. “Martino, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I knew the boy had a temper, but I’d never seen him snap without reason and perhaps blinded my fondness for him, I had failed to teach him the basics of professional etiquette. He often overreacted when designs did not suit his taste, but to threaten a supervisor was crossing a line, even for him. I, the mentor, had failed him, and as Sagese’s judgmental gaze cast over me, I felt myself burn with shame, thoroughly embarrassed by Erik’s wild behavior.

 _He was running amok with traveling fairs when you found him,_ I thought, _a street rat who only thought to survive. What reason would he have to discipline himself?_

“If I were you, I’d get rid of him before he causes you more trouble,” Sagese said bitterly, “or worse- I’ve seen _animals_ behave better.”

“Please, forgive him,” I sighed, “no, forgive _me_. I haven’t taught him well. I’ll speak to him... I’ll make sure he knows he was out of line.”

“You best discipline that boy.” Sagese glared at Erik’s distant shape from the corner of his eye. “He’s far too arrogant for his own good.”

That, I could not argue with. 

But it was not without some hesitation that I made my decision. The boy was imbued with a wisdom beyond his years, no doubt born out of necessity and spurred by natural inclination. And though he was on the cusp of manhood- and seemed to consider himself something beyond the temporal span of humanity- he was still a child. A gifted, somber, and at times frightening boy, but a boy all the same.

I knew he had no family to speak of, so the only guiding hand in his life, it seemed, was my own-- and somehow, fortune had graced me with his trust and unquestioning devotion. Six months prior, he would have been deaf to my words. I was merely a nosy old man passing by the shadowed road he walked- and yet, fate willed out paths to cross. Now he clung to my every word, as devoted to me as any son born by blood. If I were Abraham, he would gladly be Isaac upon the altar.

As gratified (and proud, for it could not be helped) as I was, it was a terrifying thing, this affection, as fragile and fierce as forged glass.

But I knew he needed my guidance- if I simply let him run wild, undisciplined and unrestrained, I would have failed as both mentor and father. And so, I left the site early, with a simple message for my boy. It called him into my study at noon...

~o0o~

I stared at the paperweight on the mahogany desk. It was a gift from Erik, carved from oak into the shape of a wolf, two pups nestled by its side. He had created it on a insomniac whim some night three weeks ago and it had lived in my study since. I tore my gaze from the paperweight and brought it to the window behind my table, where a small bird had chosen to land upon the sill.

Gaze fixed, I kept my back to the door, hoping that I would cut a sterner figure when Erik walked in. I had shown him nothing but warmth until now, and I admit I’d spoiled the boy somewhat. Perhaps this way, I could remind him of his boundaries and where my authority lay-- I was confident he would not run away and that after so long, he had the maturity to continue learning from my site, but if the shaking in my hands was anything to go by, I would be more anxious than he.

“Signore.”

His voice, as divine as I’d come to know, entered before the door creaked, those footsteps as soundless as a cat. That, perhaps, I would never be used to. I bit my lower lip, as to prevent speaking so soon.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked, a note of timidity on his tongue.

I nodded. I was unused to behaving coldly towards him, but I knew this was the only way I could voice my displeasure. In this sense, at least, he was no different than the other apprentices I’d once undertaken. In the window, I could see his reflection, ghostly and still, with his head hung. I could not see his eyes, only the brief glimpse of his white mask. I wrung my hands, and unwilling to torment the boy further, said coolly, “Erik, do you know why I summoned you here?”

I heard a sharp breath, telling me he had an inkling of what incurred my ire.

“You’re an exceptional pupil,” I told him, “but an apprentice nonetheless. Erik, the way you acted with Signore Sagese was wicked and unprofessional. He is your superior, _my equal_ , and as much as we’d like to whine, compromise has always been part of the stone mason’s trade.”

I gave him a moment to let the words sink in. Birds chirped and tweeted from beyond the glass, free from the burden of what was to come.

“Did you wish me to compromise for Signore Sagese?” he inquired dully.

“I only ask that you respect him as you respect me.”

“He made a request that disagreed with me.”

“In our trade, Erik, we cannot reject all proposals that are not to our taste. Perhaps one day when you are a master among masters, but that day is not now.”

In the reflection, I saw him bite his bottom lip. He would not answer me.

“I will have to punish you, do you understand?” I said, turning at last to face him. “There are lines an apprentice cannot cross.”

The color had drained from his face, whatever remained of it no darker than the chalk of his mask. He met my eyes, mismatched gaze steeling against whatever it was he expected me to say.

“I understand,” Erik said lowly, a gulp following the last word.

“Good,” was my curt reply, “then before you hear my terms, would you like to say anything, boy?”

His gaze drifted from my face to his shoes, and back, an uncomfortable silence falling between us as his hands twitched by his side. I had never seen him quite so jittery, and for a second, my heart softened; I’d only meant to suspend his duties at the construction site and confine him to the house for a few days, but he seemed to be feeling a shame far greater than such a punishment warranted. But before I could say anything to calm his nerves, he ventured a request that made my blood run cold...

“Please, Signore,” he said through a ragged breath, shrinking into something half his height, “use oil.”

Raising a brow, I turned around. “Speak louder.”

He hesitated again, a motion he so rarely showed around me. Faltering under my gaze, he bowed and wilted as he made his plead. “Use oil.”

Why ever would I...

I did not register the meaning of his words immediately.

And when it did, I felt myself overcome by a bout of nausea, propelling me back to the day I’d first brought him to my home. 

_“Why have you brought me here?” he once asked in terror. And I’d known then that a man had made him suffer in the worst of ways._

I remembered his horror. I knew what he had suffered, and it was only with respect for his boundaries that I never asked him to divulge. But to see that same flash of fear from him now, directed at me, who he had come to trust and love...

“Signore...”

It was too much, and as the ice in my veins turned to the fire of rage, I made the final connection between his tormentor and the abuse he’d been made to endure. I knew now that it had occurred more than once, that it had been forced upon him as punishment for who knows what, and that this tormentor had done so to inflict as much pain as he could. He had been violated in unimaginable ways and the effects were standing before me now.

As I trembled, the buckle of his trousers fell, and before I could stop him, he was on his hands and knees before me, half stripped and shaking.

“Put it back on,” I said, my voice steeled and harsh. Had I said more, I knew my words would crack and blind rage would seep through. Instead, I heard a voice that was my own and yet not, for it was filled to the brim with an icy fury.

But he moved towards me mechanically, dedicating himself to nothing but the dreadful task he assumed lay ahead. 

“Erik, stand up.”

His hand touched me. And as if I was seeing that invisible tormentor before me, I- to my instant regret- swatted it back.

Shocked by my outburst, he fell in a crumpled heap. Elbows propped, he pushed himself up once more, his thin body racked with uncontrollable shivers, but his fingers never touched the belt on the ground.

“I’m sorry, Signore,” he whispered, “you can do whatever you please.”

And just like that, he was on his knees again, trying to grasp at my belt in some twisted parody of supplication. 

“No oil. No oil- but, please, let me keep the mask on.”

Get away! I wanted to shout, Get away and tell me who inspired such behavior! Tell me so I may kill that man and beg for heaven’s forgiveness after!

But I said nothing. I merely stood and watched him, my mouth numb and my tongue dry. He was trying- he was trying- to regain his composure, like an animal released into the wild without warning. He pressed his head against the leg of my trousers, as if expecting me to take advantage of him at the first opportunity. I felt my bile rise up, mind assaulted with the images of what had led to this moment-- of what had led him to believe anyone would expect such a thing of him.

I grasped his fingers upon my belt, the appendages thin as bird bones and so brittle I feared they would break. I had never feared breaking him before. This was a side of him he permitted no one to see, and as I watched it unfold so nakedly and fully before me, I could not help but think myself the deepest of traitors.

He was still begging, those foul requests gibberish in my ears.

“Erik,” I said slowly, failing to mask the murderous edge in my voice, “stop this. I will not do anything to you. I would never do such a thing. To anyone.”

I lowered myself to his level, forcing his gaze to meet mine. The fear was still afire within it, an uncharacteristic panic clouding his eyes.

“Why would you think me capable of such a crime?” I whispered.

That caught him off guard, and like sand, what little walls he had left-- crumbled. He bowed his head, breaths loud. I could never tell what he was thinking. But for once, I did not need to.

“Erik, answer me.”

He flinched, as if expecting me to strike him.

“It’s not a crime to-” he swallowed “to touch me.”

“And why is that?” I demanded, “I’ve never heard of such a thing. What makes you so special?”

What makes you think yourself so beneath being afforded human decency? But I knew him well- I could not phrase it so truthfully. So, as much as it pained to ask, I twisted my words. To defend himself against my accusation of ego, he would have to tell me the truth. 

He looked at me, wide-eyed, knowing that I’d backed him into a corner from which he could not escape.

“It’s not a crime to take a corpse,” the boy replied, lapsing into some new terror as his mind failed to filter the words slipping out, “it’s not a crime if it puts me in my place- he said- he...”

“A corpse? You’re alive, boy.”

His skin blanched until it was as white as the mask he wore, if not paler. He had misspoken and he had no means to avoid my questioning now.

“Who is _he_?”

Erik shook his head, violently, so hard I feared his skull would fly off. “Signore, it doesn’t matter.”

“Did he threaten to kill you?” I challenged, “to make you a corpse?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

The terror was evident in his voice. But livid as I was, I refused to rest until he provided me answers.

“Or was it a moniker? Did he tell you were a corpse?”

“Signore, please. It was just a... a stage name-”

“Who came up with it?” I said lowly, “was it him?”

He was all but grovelling before me as he spoke: “Signore, please, it doesn’t matter-”

But the sight of his terror only fueled my anger. How many times had that unknown tormentor forced him into such a state?

_“Who was he?”_

“It doesn’t matter, Signore!”

“Tell me, Erik. Tell me so I may bring him to justice.”

Of course, I had no means to do such a thing, nor the strength. But I did not care, for then, I _did_ have the strength. Such was the rage within me, so strong that had he given me a name, I would have stormed Europe in search of this man immediately.

“You can’t do such a thing,” he said in a pitiful whisper, a touch of water in his eyes.

“Don’t protect him, boy!” I snapped, pretenses forgotten as the roar of fury escaped my blood, “that damned creature deserves no mercy!”

“I’m not.” He said it in a gasp, so startled by my temper. “I’m not-”

“Where did this happen!? Where is he!?”

“I can’t! I can’t say!” He held his head in his hands, looking away from me as he rocked back and forth, “please- please _have_ me already and forget, Signore!”

“Tell me, boy!”

Abruptly, he rose in a final act of desperation and grabbed my wrists, nails sinking into the skin of my palms as he placed my hands against his hips. I protested sharply, but his grip was strong and soon, my palms were forced down his thigh.

“Touch me wherever you’d like, Signore, just do it,” he begged and babbled, “take me now and we can go back to the way we were, we can go back to the way were-”

“Stop this!” I roared, thrusting him to the ground as I freed myself from his terrible grip.

Erik landed on his shoulder, a loud thump accompanying his collision with the wooden floor. I pulled him up by the collar, sick to my stomach, and said clearly, “If you won’t say, I shall hunt him down myself!”

“You can’t!”

His arms wrapped around my waist, body twisting against the shirt in my grip. I did not see the eyes of my apprentice stare up. I saw the eyes of a desperate animal, afraid of slaughter and yet so hopelessly praying for death. For that look alone, I intended to stop at nothing until I found the man who conditioned him into such a state. I wanted nothing more than to see the villain skinned.

“Do not stop me, Erik!”

“You can’t because he is dead!” the boy cried, sinking to his knees as he hid behind that mask, hands having slipped away from me at last. “He’s dead!”

And just like that, my feverish rage flooded out, replaced by a blankness still trapped in the violence I conjured. And as the hum of blood died in my ears, I found myself the lone company of his wrenching sobs and chirping birds in passing.

“Erik, how do you mean?” I asked hollowly.

I knew what he meant. I’d always known. And now it all connected, like a patchwork of things so ugly that I wished they’d never been stitched together.

“I killed him, Signore!”

I made to touch his shoulder, but now it was Erik pushing me back. With alarming strength, he gathered himself and stumbled out of my reach, his vision no doubt a haze of tears. “I am a murderer, nothing but a shameless wretch!”

“Erik-”

He ran from me, sobbing his apologies as he dashed out the door, that lovely voice no more than a haunting cry as my heart crumbled.

~o0o~

It did not take me long to rush to the cellar, which Erik had so pleasantly accepted as his room. Logic told me to give the boy space, for when I reviewed what had just transpired between us, I felt a hot shame. I, so adamant in my justice and role as patriarch, had neglected the repercussions on his young mind. As the twisted pieces of his early life became clear to me, I realised that under his haughty demeanor, he was only a violently abused _child_ , one who did what was necessary to survive and shield. And in my thoughtless crusade, I had forced him to relive memories of his tormentor and sins no child should ever witness, much less live through. 

If I gave him space now, he would surely take his belongings and leave before the hour was up. I had proved myself no better than the characters in his life and he would sooner die than see me again. So I barged into his room, for he’d forgotten to lock that door in his haste.

I had to see him again and convince my apprentice- the son I never had- to stay and forgive me.

He was on his bed, the mask in his hands as he pressed his face into the sheets, now appearing so thin and small that my heart threatened to crack anew. 

“Erik, it’s me,” I announced.

He started then, hurriedly tying the mask back into place, so quickly that I barely caught a glimpse of his face. But from what I could see, his visage was as much as I expected: parchment skin and sunken eyes. If he could one day bare it to me in full, I know the result would be much worse. Perhaps he already suspected I knew. Even so, his countenance was the least of my concerns now.

“Signore,” he said, wispy, “allow me a moment to pack my belongings. I shall be gone before your supper.”

I came to sit on the edge of his bed. “You will do no such thing, Erik. I will not allow you to leave.”

“Do you wish me arrested?” He looked down, afraid to meet my eyes, and from the sniffle in his voice, I knew he’d not yet stopped crying. “I’m a coward, Signore. I fear what they would do to me in prison... I fear...”

He stiffened when I placed a hand against his back, careful as not to imply ill intent, lest he think I intended to violate him as that hateful villain had.

“I am a man of faith,” I told him, careful with my words, “I cannot condone killing, no matter the cause. But I’m not stupid- I do understand when circumstances force one’s hand.”

I felt him tremble, as if afraid I would deal him some deadly blow. He was on the verge of falling apart, and should I say the wrong thing, I knew I would damage him irreparably... but perhaps the damage had already been done.

“I believe in repentance as well. I believe that all souls may be saved.”

“Not mine, Signore. You know my sins now. And they are as ugly as my...” He stopped himself from going on. 

“Your face. I know, Erik. I’ve always known.” I placed a finger beneath his chin, titling gently until he was turned my way. Those eyes were desolate, as fearful of me as Isaac and his lamb. “But if not for your circumstances, you would never have come my way. And know that I consider our meeting a blessing, not a curse.”

“Even now?” His lip trembled.

I nodded. “And I hope that one day you will trust me enough to speak of your past. So we may heal together. Can you do that for me, Erik, one day? I will not force you.”

I removed my hand from his chin, and as it returned to my lap, he caught it in his own. He traced my gnarled fingers, running his digits through my veins. I had always been so caught up in his work that I never noticed the state of his spindly hands. Light scars crossed his wrists, signs of wounds that had once dug deep and bled out...

“He was the first man I ever killed,” Erik said softly.

 _There had been more_ , he meant to say. He glanced at me, perhaps waiting to see if I would pull away. But I did not.

“Even my mother could not look at me,” he went on, voice thick again, “but- he could. He would look at me and he would smile. But I hated it.”

His hands clung to mine, shoulders scrunched as he gulped. My heart went out to him- for there was nothing else I could do, as I soon realized- but if I interrupted now, he may never speak of this again. And I knew that whatever agony it caused, he needed to release it now or forever torment himself within. 

I was not a naive man. I had seen more than my fair share of humanity’s vices in a single lifetime. And indeed, there were things I wish I never witnessed, things I would wish on no human being regardless of creed. And regretfully, I had seen such behavior before, in unfortunate men and women alike. Their hatred would turn inwards, as would their guilt, until their plight loomed over them like a hangman’s noose and the fear of punishment for a crime that was not theirs.

I was fortunate, then, that no crimes of the sort had befallen my dear daughters; had any man dared lay a finger on them, I fear what I would have done. What I and my hands would have done...

But it had happened to my apprentice and we had no way of seeking justice. He was young, _so young_ , and if I walked away now, he would see that I’d turned my back on him like everyone else. The cycle of guilt and shame would force him into a despair from which there was no return. And so, I encouraged him to speak.

“Signore, please tell no one. Promise me.”

“I shall take it to the grave.”

He nodded, and with what tremendous bravery he had left, allowed me into his burdens. “I don’t wish to speak his name...”

“That’s all right. Do you wish to continue?”

Another nod, but those eyes shut. “He said people would pay- pay to see me. He kept me in a...”

I gulped, my breath level as I struggled to hide my disgust. Leveling my dread, I asked, “What, Erik? Do you wish to tell me?”

“Will you judge me, Signore? Will you think me as dangerous as a beast?” he said, as muted as cotton.

“I’ll do no such thing.”

His eyes averted mine, as if still in disbelief that I would not hate him for what he was about to say.

“A cage- he beat me when I would not comply- he did so many things and I let him. I let him because I thought I should.”

My jaw clenched, forcing the bile back at that vile imagery. That vulgar beast had subjected a mere child to such a thing and I could only seethe in my rage. No, even had Erik been a grown man, my horror would be no less. I thought of him, trembling as he was now, naked against that beast’s jeers and fists, nothing but the bars of a cage protecting him from the cruel gazes looking in. And perhaps what enraged me most was the fact that I knew, without a doubt, that my apprentice believed he deserved every moment of it.

 _It’s not a crime to put me in my place,_ is what he had told me. He did not say it aloud, but I had an inkling- perhaps from the moment he shed his first tear- that he believed such punishment fitting for his horror of a face.

“Then what happened?” I asked.

“We came to an understanding,” Erik said, gaze again on mine, searching for clues of judgment. He winced. “He gave me my... freedom, but I was _his_ , Signore. And business was not always good. He blamed me and- and-”

He bowed his head, overcome with shame. “He would take me until I couldn’t walk. It hurt so much, but I always... he always said it was what I deserved. I know I sound ungrateful, Signore, I won’t fault you for thinking so.”

Then, I could not resist starting, for my mind almost imploded when I repeated, “Un... grateful?”

“He took me in, fed me, clothed me, released me from that cage... and I know no one else on this Earth would want me as- as he did. I knew I owed him and each time he would collect his debt, but each time he’d do something worse, and-”

He released my hand, palms moving to cover his eyes. His chest heaved as he fought to speak through incoming tears. “It hurt so much.”

My boy. Oh, my boy.

I pulled him into my arms, pressing his head against my shoulder. And he fell apart, brokenly sobbing in my embrace, perhaps held for the first time in his life.

“How can you stand me, Signore?” he blubbered, “I’m damaged goods, worse, a murderer and a-”

_“It’s not your fault.”_

I said it through my own tears, only then realising that the salt had started flowing from my eyes. And as my heart clenched, I looked him in the eye and said again, as loud and firm as my cracking voice would allow, “Erik, it’s not your fault.”

He stared, dumbstruck, as if unable to comprehend what I was attempting to say. The fault was not his. None of it was. He had not asked to be born with that visage. He had not forced himself into his mother’s life. He had not enticed that villain into his sins. He had not wished to murder- as loathe as I was to use that word- else he would not have endured for so long.

I only wish I had come across him earlier, that our paths would have converged before all this tragedy had befallen his young self. I thought of this boy, of his talent and skill, and the bright soul beneath that shyness- and how he deserved none of what he’d related. From the depths of my heart, I wished I could have prevented his ordeals, that fate would have attempted to be kinder. But wishful thinking would be no use to him.

The truth of the matter was that he had received nothing but indifference and cruelty when he needed anything but, and I would be sure that changed this moment. With all the conviction I could gather, I spoke:

“It’s not your fault.”

It was a miracle in itself that his spirit had not been crushed to powder and a testament to the strength he hid. But he was teetering on that edge, and I would do my damnedest to pull him back

“You must believe me this,” I told him, “you have to. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, none of it, and you must accept that.”

He shook his head, whispering in French as he clutched at the fabric of my shirt. And holding him, I only repeated that same phrase- “it’s not your fault”- again and again until he fell against me sobbing. I do not know how long I held him there or how long we wept, only that I spoke it like a prayer in his ears and I hoped that at least from my mouth, he would finally find the absolution he required.

"It’s not your fault...”

~o0o~

I did not send Erik back to work that day, nor did I return to the site. I do not know how long I spent calming him down, only that he requested I turn my head so he could freely weep. In truth, I feared leaving him alone in that fragile state and perhaps then, he needed me as he had never needed anyone before. And I refused to fail him.

We spent the better part of the afternoon in his cellar, talking of idle things and going over unfinished drawings. We spoke of future plans and the materials we would need, but neither of our hearts were quite committed to the task. His disposition brightened somewhat when I mentioned the prospect of a work vacation. I did not know if I could have realistically planned such a trip, but I would have moved heaven and Earth if it meant restoring his spirits. I told him he could accompany me on a journey across Europe. We would see the grandest churches and cathedrals outside of Italy, just he and I. That moved him, it seemed, for if there was anyone he now trusted to keep him safe on this Earth, it was I.

“But I am an old man,” I said, “not as fit for travel as I once was. You will have to care for me, Erik.”

“I will, Signore,” he said eagerly, “I will.”

Then I tasked him with compiling a list of sights he’d like to observe, an assignment he took most merrily to. It would keep his mind occupied for some time, at least.

When we left his cellar, night had fallen, and though he usually preferred to eat alone, he agreed to take dinner with me in the dining room. He sat across from my seat, gazing upon me like a scorned pup afraid of displeasing its master. And watching that childlike trepidation, I could not help but feel a heavy ache for the boy because for once, those sad eyes looked their age. It was easy to forget his age, and try as he might to keep it that way, there would be a reminder all the same. It came in the form of a bright laugh, a little tilt of the head, the desire for praise and sweets, and all the things that made him the same as any other boy of thirteen.

Since passing my prime, I could not stomach much food in the evening but even with the light meal of polenta and wine before me, I hadn’t much appetite. Again and again, my mind reeled back to the sordid details of my apprentice’s past. He spent the majority of our mealtime poking at his food as well, only occasionally nibbling at the bread when I looked his way. When I glanced at the etches on the wooden table, they turned my stomach even more, for they bore a great resemblance to his scars. I had no doubt the scars went beyond his wrists and arms, and that a great number of them had come from that dead man. And thinking back to the afternoon- for I had been too distracted by my emotions then- I remembered the marks winding along his naked legs.

Where else could they have come from? I had no delusions that he received most of his injuries from innocent street scuffles. He spoke of a mother who loathed him. Or perhaps he inflicted such pain upon himself. Each option proved more difficult than the next, and as I swallowed the last of my wine, I swore that no more harm would befall him so long as he was under my care.

~o0o~

Erik never left my side that night. He kept silent but I knew it was from some anxious fear that I would change my mind and cast him out, and perhaps even more unfounded, that should I leave, the ghost of that villain would return and harm him farther. The only way I could soothe these doubts was to turn a blind eye and allow him to linger beside me like a jumpy cat.

He waited by my study as I reviewed my plans for tomorrow. We were behind schedule, but it was a price I was willing to pay given the events of today. Afterwards, I put out the candles and tended myself in the washroom. Again, he sat huddled in the hall, as if I would disappear if he so much as looked away from the washroom door. When I’d completed my nightly rituals, I let him follow me to the doorway of my room before the inevitable moment came- I informed him I needed to retire and advised him to get some rest.

“We have a long day’s work ahead,” I said, “we’ll labor twice as hard tomorrow and if time allows, I shall arrange for us to make amends with Signore Sagese. Does that sound agreeable?”

The mention of Sagese gave him pause- and that should have been the second sign I received but then, I was still too lost in my own biases- before he nodded. He still carried that forlorn expression, and much as I wished to invite him to my room, I feared the implications of such a request. The last thing he needed was for me to instill the same fear in him that dead villain had. No, it was far too inappropriate for a number of reasons.

“Signore,” he said quietly, “may I... sleep outside your door tonight?”

I removed my hand from the doorknob. There was a tragic dignity to such a graceless request, one that I could not turn away from.

“Erik, you’re not a mutt or a stray cat. A human being should never ask such things.”

He lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Signore.”

And clapping my hand on his shoulder, I said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve slept in the cellar. If you’ll allow me to inspect it tonight, I can do so until you’ve fallen asleep.”

He hesitated. “I’m a light sleeper, Signore. How long will the inspection take?”

Ah, his silent plea- _will you stay with me all night?_ I smiled. “And I snore, Erik. I am not young anymore. I expect to doze off in some chair halfway through, but in the morning, I will have returned to my own bed.”

Perhaps it was a trick of the candlelight but it seemed like the boy smiled for the first time that night...

Still in my bathrobe, I accompanied him to the cellar as I had promised. I set a small candle on the desk nearest his bed and though he protested, I eventually persuaded him to change into his night clothes. Again, I turned away whilst he wriggled into the old shirt I’d gifted him on his first night; from memory, I knew it would pass as a gown on his thin form. He hadn’t any pyjamas otherwise. In all honesty, the boy had little clothing to speak of and the night shirt had been my way of assuring him that this apprenticeship offered a life beyond the streets and slums.

When he snuggled into bed, he pulled the covers tight over his head until only bits of his hair poked through. I suspected that under the blanket, he removed the white mask. He curled into a ball as I pulled up a chair beside the lump of blanket he’d become. It was quiet and once I’d relaxed in my seat, I noticed the sound of falling rain, light and slanted as it echoed down from the roof and walls. There was a faint shower outside, and it would last through the night.

And after a few moments of contemplation, I felt myself nodding off, anxieties washed away by the rain and weakness of age. As if sensing my drowsiness, Erik shifted in his cocoon and said timidly, “Signore.”

“Yes?”

“May- may I share another matter with you?”

Another confession. I braced myself to remain awake, for whatever it was he planned to say, he had timed it until he was sure I was midway to dreamland and incapable of judging him.

“Of course.” But I had resolved hours ago to cast judgment aside. He needed guidance, not condemnation. He had judged himself quite enough, I’d come to learn.

“Will you think any worse of me?”

“I only hope that you trust me enough to make that decision.”

A deep gulp sounded from the covers.

“Erik?”

“I keep to the shadows, Signore, I try to stay out of everyone’s way, but- it’s never enough, I always ruin everything in the end, I... there’s something terrible about me that inspires such things and I- I never tried to repent for these sins.”

“If it’s forgiveness you’re asking for, Erik, I cannot give it unless I know what the sin is. And you already know my belief- in time, all can be redeemed.” There were some sins, however, that could only be paid for in hell and I dearly wished that dead tormentor met such a fate.

And still, I felt a creeping sense of alarm. I already knew Erik killed a man in self-defense. What could be worse in his eyes? Had he committed murder for pleasure? Attacked another as he himself had been? Stolen bits of my fortune? I prepared myself for any of these possibilities, but instinct told me his blame was again misplaced and I was unsure if I could handle another bout of horror on his behalf without rushing out into the rain.

“Signore Sagese- he asked me to recite a poem for him. I complied and...”

If he lifted his eyes then, he would have seen my cheeks flush white, as if splashed with ashen paint.

I had trusted Sagese.

I had worked with him before, allowed him into my home, and drank from his wine.

We were not close, but I had trusted him. He had met my wife and sat at the same table as my children. I had considered him an honorable man who respected our craft. Had it been any other apprentice, I would have dismissed such vile speculation as slander, but from Erik’s lips, I knew who I must believe.

“He asked to touch me.”

I held my breath, and slowly, squeezed it out.

Damn you, Sagese. _Damn you_. I had listened to your complaints and berated my apprentice on your behalf. And you were no less reprehensible than the man I had spent the day condemning. No, worse, Sagese, for you went as far as to pretend you were a man of virtue.

I saw red. My breathing was rugged, inspired by a need to stand and stab Sagese in the gut right this moment.

“When did this happen?” I whispered.

“I read his poems for days. He only asked to- this morning.” This morning, before I arrived, when I found the two arguing behind the limestone...

“What was the name of this poem?”

“It was by Catullus. I don’t... don’t remember the name.”

Nor did I wish him to remember. Catullus! Against my will, my mind conjured up an image of Sagese salivating behind my apprentice as his silken voice trailed over the Roman’s vulgar words. No doubt it spurred the pervert’s imagination, and the more my rage built up, the more nauseous I became.

“Erik, tell me now. Did he hurt you? Did he so much as touch you?”

Fearing the worst, I gripped the ends of the chair until my knuckles popped white. Sagese! Sagese! I’ll have you hung for laying a finger on him!

“No.” And just like that, my legs lost all their weight. Flooded with relief, I could not have stood even if I wanted to.

“Was that what you were arguing over?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

“Yes.” And then, in a voice no louder than a faint squeak, he said, “I’m sorry. I never meant to tempt him-”

“You stupid boy!” I cried, “you’re not to blame for this!”

Sagese’s wickedness had nothing to do with you! I would have screeched it aloud if I knew it would not frighten him. And to think, I had planned to punish him for refusing the devil’s advances. A fool! A damned old fool!

“You have nothing to repent for,” I said shakily, “nothing to feel ashamed for. Never, never think otherwise, Erik... and-”

Perhaps his voice did hold some power over our fellow men, but it was utter foolishness to believe it was enough to tempt a man Sagese’s age, and more outlandish still to believe Erik would use such power to incur violation upon himself. No, he was not to blame for this occurrence and no human being with even half a heart should even think to blame a child for such things. 

I gulped this time. “The only one who should be ashamed is me.” A guilty old fool.

I stood up, and knowing full well that he was too scared to reply, walked up to where his hair poked out and placed my hand upon his crown. I stroked his hair gently as the rain continued to pour overhead.

“Forgive me for misjudging all this,” I told him softly, “I won’t let Signore Sagese near you. Never again.”

Thin fingers crept out from the cover, rising just enough to touch my hand above his head.

~o0o~

I terminated my contract with Sagese at dawn. Our contractor was beyond displeased, but I made my stance clear. I could not work with a man of such ill repute and if that reflects badly of my reputation, then so be it. But out of obligation, I did return to the construction site to tell our fellow masons of my departure. Under my orders, Erik stayed away. As expected, my decision was met with much confusion but my team held me in enough regard to leave it be.

Sagese was another matter. He found me on the path out and asked how he had offended me. His feigning innocence incensed my rage, but quelling it, I told him, “You know perfectly well. Never come near my apprentice again.”

Bewildered, he said, “Giovanni, I don’t understand. What did your boy say of me?”

“He said enough.”

And his expression of astonishment morphed into one of rage. 

“So you’d believe the word of that urchin over me?” he said in disbelief, “how long have you known me?”

“I would,” I growled, “and if you wish to escape bodily harm, please let me by.”

“I see where he got his manners, then! Like master, like student!” 

Then jabbing a finger into my chest, he said, seething, “That little wretch is a liar. You’ll regret this! He’ll be your ruin, just you wait!”

I smacked his wrist back. “That’s a risk I shall gladly take. And you, Martino, best mind your wickedness before hell claims you.”

“I don’t know what he said to poison your senile mind, but mark my words, that _freak_ will destroy you.”

“His name is Erik. Good day.” I turned to leave, fists clenched, when he again blocked my path.

Chuckling dryly, he smirked and said, “Ah, I know what this is about now, my friend. You’re just like me. I never meant to take anything that belonged to you.”

As my skin began to crawl, he leaned in and asked closely, “Tell me, Giovanni, does he moan as smoothly as he speaks?”

I punched him in the jaw, a hard crack sounding as my fist connected with his face. I did not regret it.

~o0o~

When I returned home, Erik was waiting by the door. He had been curled upon a sofa, sketching away at a floor plan in his hands. But he dropped it all as soon as he saw me. Although he did not voice it, I knew he was anxious over my termination, perhaps wondering if I had second thoughts and still meant to turn him out. Such doubts saddened me, but I would be an even greater fool if I assumed he would trust so blindly after so little time. No, it would take many years more before he could even consider the possibility that I truly saw him as a son. 

Coming to take my coat, he released a small gasp when he saw my right hand. Quite concerned with the swollen bruises marring my knuckles, he guided me to the kitchen and asked for alcohol. I revealed nothing as his ministrations saw to my hand, and perhaps fearing the answer, he dared not ask. Indeed, Sagese and I had exchanged some heated words and blows on his behalf, but I felt nothing but grim satisfaction as I remembered the noise Sagese’s jaw had made.

“Would you like me gone?” Erik said calmly, gaze on my knuckles as he tenderly held my rough fingers. “I’m no fool, Signore. I know... I was the cause of this.”

“Erik, look at me.”

The masked face turned up, and met with the trepidation in that mismatched gaze, I shook my head.

“I would no sooner cast you out than my own flesh and blood,” I said evenly, “but I will be very displeased if you continue to doubt your place in my home.”

“But-”

“I’ll hear none of it. For me, your past, your face- it changes nothing. You are my apprentice, my charge, and no matter what they say out there, I know you’ll make this old man proud.”

_“Signore.”_

His shoulders shook as his gaze lowered, again weeping before me. I watched him cry, my hand still between his palms, and I let him weep. And when at last, it seemed that he’d shed enough tears, I stood and held him close, for he was my son in everything but name.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and feel free to leave kudos/comments! I was really nervous about publishing this one, so it’d mean a lot to know it was worth your time. I really hope the fic handled its content sensitively enough and that the writing itself was at least decent!
> 
> If it makes any sense, this is essentially a Kay AU where things are worse for Erik but also better in the long run because of Giovanni’s intervention. I figured that in this story, because Giovanni is now super extra protective of Erik, the Luciana disaster wouldn’t happen (but feel free to imagine otherwise).
> 
> Erik’s character in poto canon can be read as an incubus of sorts, but I’m not comfortable with Kerik’s voice being described as something innately sinful about him. It’s not the poor kid’s fault that some people can’t handle a pretty voice, so I ended up writing this fix-it phic where he finally gets the guidance and comfort he needs. And for anyone that feels the same way, I hope you found this worth reading!


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